


Like cats and dogs

by Whiterabbit11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Top Harry, Top Harry Potter, Weird Magic, Werewolf, Werewolf Harry Potter, badly named house elves, draco isn't nice, harry isn't scary, potions master, what could possibly go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-07 07:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14075556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiterabbit11/pseuds/Whiterabbit11
Summary: Harry is a werewolf and Draco is annoying.





	1. Cut and Sew

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know about this one, you guys... It came out of vague ideas that wouldn't leave me alone. I nearly didn't post it, so please don't be too harsh!

Draco Malfoy stood outside a dingy London townhouse, discreetly tapping his fingers against his coat pocket. While it wouldn’t do to be outwardly impatient, he was already conscious of rising irritation. With an effort, he sighed gently, tried to clear his mind, and knocked sharply on the peeling painted door. A quick wandless, wordless charm took care of the dust and debris transferred to his lavender gloves, an automatic response to any dirt upon his person. Draco realized there was a very soft shuffling noise on the other side of the door, and tried again to quell his continuing annoyance. “I can hear you in there, Potter. Open the door,” he commanded, quietly but firmly. No answer came, and the shuffling became a sort of tense silence. Draco rolled his eyes, and started working his right hand out of his glove. He quickly stowed it away and pulled out a small, dainty knife. “Potter, please open the door,” he tried again, aware that the other man was waiting quietly for developments. Still silence. With a soft mutter of annoyance, Draco drew the tip of the knife carefully across a small patch of skin on the back of his forearm, where it would likely hurt least. He still hissed a little at the sting, but kept a beady eye on the thin trickle of blood that appeared. Once there was a nice amount gathered there, he quickly smeared it across the door in front of him. He watched in satisfaction as the door swung violently inwards, so suddenly that the figure standing behind it was flung back into the wall with a cry of dismay. Draco quickly inserted himself into the hallway, swung the door shut behind him, and turned to face the hulking form of Harry Potter.

Draco kept his hands up in the ‘surrender’ position, right arm turned so his assailant would see that he was still bleeding and hopefully wouldn’t immediately attack. He needn’t have worried, as for the second time in his life he found he had broken Harry Potter’s nose. Potter was sending him a red-eyed glare over a mess of blood, his hand clasped over his face, and Draco couldn’t help the little cluck that escaped him. He couldn’t have said himself if it was a noise of exasperation or amusement. “Let’s get this fixed up, shall we?” asked Draco rhetorically, as the other man was still glaring silently, his eyes roving up and down Draco’s pristine, beautifully-dressed form.

The blonde fished out his wand and cast healing spells, first upon his own bleeding arm, and then on Harry’s nose, which clicked back into place audibly. Harry paled and grunted, then shivered as Malfoy’s cleaning spell silently washed over him. Malfoy was frowning thoughtfully, apparently examining the effects of his spellwork. “Another one, I think,” he muttered, and Harry quivered indignantly as a much more thorough cleansing spell hit his whole body and clothing. He felt an enthusiastic tingle around his socks and was just drawing breath to give Malfoy a piece of his mind, when the blonde smiled pleasantly and derailed his thoughts. “Isn’t that much better?” Harry was outraged, and his hands itched with the desire to punch Malfoy in his smug, pretty face, but something about the way the pale neck disappeared so neatly into the white wool coat stopped him. Messing up Malfoy would be an absolute travesty, and even Harry wasn’t so depraved as all that. Yet. Harry started to speak and was surprised to find his voice was nearly a growl. After clearing his throat slightly, he managed to bite out, ‘How did you get in? This house is under Fidelious, and my own protections.” Malfoy’s smile became even smugger. “I used to come here as a boy, before Aunt Wally went completely batty. I’m a Black, you know. This house will never turn away my blood, and now that I’ve spilled some on the door, I can come and go as I please, no matter what enchantment you place upon it.” Harry’s mouth dropped open. “But… all through the war…” he sputtered. “Quite,” snipped Malfoy. “Mother never told Father about it, just in case she and I could find a way to escape. It’s never good to give away all one’s secrets, hmm?” With this bombshell, Malfoy turned around to examine the dreary hallway of Grimmauld Place.

“I love what you’ve done with the place, dear”, murmured Draco, and as he had predicted, Potter’s annoyance bubbled over. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? Why would you even want to come here? No one else does!” ranted Potter, and then came to an abrupt halt, as if he had realised that he had said too much. Draco arched one blonde eyebrow in a way he knew was blood-boilingly annoying – he had practiced it in the mirror until the effect was just so – and smiled sweetly. “Granger sent me,” he announced. “Said you needed a potions master? Although I rather think what she meant was, you need an interior decorator, a tailor and an exorcist. Not necessarily in that order.” Draco bent over to examine the teeth marks on a troll leg umbrella stand nearby.

“Since when do you talk to Hermione? And stop poking around my house! I do not need an exorcist!” said Harry, not realising he had just admitted to needing the others. He was finding it hard to focus on the argument at hand when Malfoy was basically presenting his heart-shaped bottom for Harry’s perusal. Harry had a momentary urge to snuffle that tempting, perky rear, but pulled himself back as if smacked on the nose with a newspaper.

Draco straightened up, and observed with pleasure that Potter was ogling his arse with mingled annoyance, confusion and lust. Excellent. He rejoined the conversation. “Granger and I speak all the time, Potter,” he drawled airily. “I know all about your furry little problem, and how the usual Wolfsbane hasn’t been helping you. She has been discreet,” he hastened to add when the windows started rattling threateningly, and watched as Potter tried to get his temper under control. “You know her best. She wouldn’t have come anywhere near me except that she knows I have the best chance of helping you. Perhaps we can discuss this in more comfortable surroundings?” Draco looked around curiously, wondering whether there was any part of this house that was more comfortable, but Potter stormed off down the hall and into a dark, oppressive room. Draco followed, already knowing that this was the famous tapestry room. He had spent many hours learning his family tree from the magical embroidery, and he couldn’t help the soft cry that left his lips when he entered the dank, dull room.

Harry was in a towering temper, and took Malfoy to the most impersonal room he could think of. He should have realised that this room would be far from impersonal to Malfoy. Literally his entire family was magically sewn into the very fabric of Harry’s home, except for the burn holes where Walburga had smote those who displeased her. Malfoy’s mewl of distress sent a pang to Harry’s own heart, and he watched the silver eyes grow very wide and sad as the blonde took in the pitiful state of the room and the tapestry. “What happened?” asked Malfoy in a hushed voice. “Walburga,” shrugged Harry. Malfoy touched the tapestry with a soft, reverent hand, and to Harry’s astonishment the whole thing fluttered as if coming to life. Malfoy looked even more sorrowful when his hand passed over the burn hole under which was written ‘Sirius Black’, and Harry couldn’t help the flinch that crossed his face. “May I?” asked Malfoy in a hushed voice.

Harry had no idea what he was asking, but nodded anyway. His confusion must have shown, for Malfoy whispered, “Watch”, and raised his hands to undo his long braid. Once all his platinum hair was lying loose, gleaming brightly in the dim room, Malfoy combed it through with his fingers. Several silvery strands came free, and he simply held them up to the tapestry. Harry gasped to see that they seemed to be absorbed by the cloth, and the dull, tarnished gold throughout the tapestry gleamed fitfully. Malfoy combed more hair out, and held it up. He looked at the wall critically and said, “It needs some black of course,” and turned to Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry’s hands automatically went up to his own matted, dirty hair. It was a little better since Malfoy’s earlier cleaning spell but Harry was still embarrassed as he combed out a tangle of curls and held them out hesitantly. He gasped as the strands seemed to disappear into the tapestry, and tears came into his eyes as he watched the picture of Sirius reappear, woven out of the magical sacrifice of black and Black hair. Harry noticed that the previously deep gold thread throughout now looked lighter, a little closer to platinum.

Malfoy’s eyes darted and he murmured lowly, “You see, the Potters are arriving.” Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he searched the tapestry wildly. Malfoy pointed to a side of the Black tree, where a Black married a Potter. “All the pure-blood families are related,” whispered Malfoy softly, as he came close to Harry’s ear. Harry watched in wonder as past generations of his family were written down on the bare walls of his home, the dirty grey wallpaper giving away to lush magical embroidery on heavy cloth. His breath caught as the name James Potter finally appeared, a line connecting him to Lily Evans, and then Harry himself. The picture of Lily seemed a little faded, and Malfoy clicked his tongue. “You need a redhead, Potter,” he said softly, a smirk playing on his lips. Harry turned back to Malfoy to find the blonde tucked in close to him. He looked back at the picture of his mother. “I wonder where I’ll find one of those?” he said quietly, laughing under his breathe. Malfoy snickered too, and it tickled Harry’s ear. His breath smelled sweet – sugar quills, Harry’s brain supplied, Malfoy’s favourite. “Of course that means your entire adoptive clan will be etched on this tapestry also,” drawled Malfoy. “You may need to extend the room.” Harry grinned. “I’m sure you can show me how to do that too, Malfoy,” he quipped. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there for over a year now, since he was Bitten on a Auror raid gone wrong. Malfoy searched Harry’s face as Harry continued to devour his family tree with full eyes, and nodded a little. “Finally ready to listen to me then, you bloody nuisance?” he asked gently, and Harry turned to him and smiled. 

‘Talk to me, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, just me and fluff!


	2. Twitterpated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes Draco home. Or is it the other way around?

Draco observed the scene before him closely. Harry was perched on an overstuffed, ugly sofa with an enormous slice of cake, nibbling slowly and generally looking nervous. Around him lounged varying Weasleys of every possible age, size and shape, though they all shared the same colouring. Draco himself had retired to a quiet corner with a window overlooking a few chickens scratching a chaotic garden. This was a long way from the Manor’s manicured lawns and majestic peacocks, and from Mother’s afternoon teas of dainty sandwiches and Darjeeling. Draco cautiously dug into his own huge slice of a robust, solid chocolate cake. It was delicious, and he happily forked a larger piece and continued watching Harry. The new potions regime Draco had concocted was coming along nicely, and Harry had been practically docile during the last full moon, although the troll leg umbrella stand was still his wolf form’s favourite chew toy. All things being equal, Draco counted this a success. Harry had to be different from everyone else, of course, and perhaps his own enormous reserves of power were conflicting with his lycanthropy. Harry could Change outside of a full moon, at any time at all, and usually without his own volition. Added to the ineffectiveness of the standard Wolfsbane potion, this had rendered him unable to be in public, unable to work or socialise or live normally. He had grudgingly allowed Ron and Hermione to visit him for very short periods of time, but always rushed them away, filled with worry that he would suddenly transform and bite them. The fear had still not left him, some six months after Draco had started working with him to control the powerful beast within.

Harry took potions every day now, to a strict regimen concocted by Draco and delivered by a ferocious Malfoy house elf appropriately named Meaney. Harry complained he would never get used to waking to the sight of Meaney looming over him. He claimed that it would serve the cranky elf right if Harry transformed in shock and ate him. Harry had never joked about his condition before, so being able to do so now was a huge step forward, Hermione confided to Draco. Of course she didn’t realise that Draco had also spent most of six months ruthlessly teasing Harry for his condition, his hair, his clothes and the appalling state of his house. Rising to Draco’s constant snark like he always did, Harry found himself keeping his hair trimmed, supplementing a new wardrobe from smart muggle establishments, and taking an interest in the outside world again. He was eating more because Draco’s potions made him woozy if he didn’t, and besides, Draco had installed another Malfoy elf, Eeney, in the empty Grimmauld Place kitchens. Poor Kreacher had finally succumbed to age, and Harry had not bothered to replace him, nor bothered to feed himself much. Eeney would get Very Upset if Harry didn’t eat, and had anxiously confided that Draco had sent her to Harry to fatten him up. Eeney was concerned that if Harry didn’t put on weight and strength, Master Draco would punish her. Harry privately doubted this, given the way Draco always patted her little round head and pounced on whatever she had made for Harry’s meals. But Harry had to admit he enjoyed not having to eat alone even if it meant he had to share.

Draco came and went as he pleased. He said he needed to see how the potions were affecting Harry at any time, though Harry often found him simply curled up reading on the chaise by the fire in the tapestry room. The room was now indeed covered on every wall with family members. One whole wall sported redheads, and Ron diligently added a few more hairs every time he came over. Harry had found Draco adding more silvery strands too, and as a result of this particularly weird competition, the tapestry looked marvelously bright and cheery. It was so lovely in fact, that Harry was tempted into making other renovations. Hermione happily found several books on magical house maintenance for him, and for the last 3 months, Harry had thrown himself into the project. The house gleamed and was clean and comfortable now. Harry personally thought it lacked any real panache – and Draco had said so to anyone who would listen – but on the day Harry had finished off a final hallway, Draco had appeared. He brought yet another house elf, Miney, and set himself up in a spare room a few doors down from Harry. It was so convenient to have a London base, he explained to Harry airily, and Harry clearly had plenty of space. It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to point out that Draco was a bloody wizard and a very rich man besides, but for some reason all he said was “Don’t use up all the hot water.” After all, Harry assured himself, he was a very rich man too, and could afford to feed one anemic blonde. Especially one who produced daily potions for Harry, and possessed such a pretty bum.

Draco still went back to Wiltshire to his potions lab daily, but many evenings saw him curled up on the best new sofa in front of Harry’s fire, reading and making acerbic comments about the new ‘muggle telly-visual device’ that Harry had coaxed to life. Harry made a game of introducing more muggle items to the home, and found great entertainment in Draco’s attempts to make toast or operate a microwave. The blender was nearly the end of their tenuous friendship-housemate-thing, but once Draco got over the horror of being covered in smoothie and understood about the lid, he made off with it for his potions lab. Harry had protested but didn’t want it back after Draco had used it for liquidizing frog innards. “It’s so much more efficient, Potter!” Draco assured him earnestly, while Harry silently prayed there were no frog guts in his own potions. He didn’t say so to Draco of course, because the pointy little bastard would probably add some just for kicks.

Harry had not yet ventured outside for very long, and his first major public outing was today, at the Burrow. Even though it had been months since his last ‘episode’, as Hermione primly called them, Harry was haunted by the idea that he would suddenly transform and take a chomp out of those he loved. But Draco had barely taken his eyes off Harry and kept his wand within reach. He had finally convinced Harry to come out today, to Molly’s birthday party, by promising to drop him like a stone if he so much as growled at anyone. Harry trusted that Draco would show him no mercy. Molly’s gratitude for finally seeing her last son after so many months was palpable, and she sat close to him, nattering aimlessly, eating cake, and leaning her head on his shoulder happily. Harry brooded quietly and mechanically ate cake. Draco could tell he was working himself up to a nice, self-loathing strop, and made firm eye contact with Harry. His expression suggested Harry would stay sitting down and eating cake until Draco gave him leave to get up. Harry’s eyes turned pleading and worried, a puppy-dog face that he was unfairly good at these days. Draco remained unmoved, and Harry subsided. He even offered a few quiet comments to Molly’s conversation, and she was so delighted that she pinched his cheeks. Harry assured her that Draco’s house elf was feeding him three hot meals a day plus snacks. Molly looked at Draco approvingly, and Draco cautiously smiled back. Draco hadn’t really spoken all through the visit, but the news that he had been part of Harry’s rehabilitation was well received. Charlie clapped him on the back and nearly knocked him off the window sill, George gave him a stiff nod, and Ginny gave him another slice of cake. This one appeared to be lemon flavoured despite being cut from the same enormous cake as the others. He bit into it with gusto, and immediately turned into a small, silver tweeting bird.

The bird sat on the window sill looking surprised, then pissed off. It immediately flew at George’s head, shrieking in outrage while George roared with laughter. The house descended into utter chaos as Ron suddenly went ‘pop’ and turned into a weirdly shrimp-coloured bird. Then it was Charlie’s turn. All three birds immediately set to attacking George while Molly shrieked, and Harry found himself sandwiched between Hermione and Ginny, crying with laughter. George was fumbling in his pockets, presumably for the antidote, so Harry gently snagged the silver bird as it flew through the air. He searched George’s pockets while the other man flailed on the sofa, and found a small package of bird seeds. He offered a few to the indignant silver bird. It immediately turned up its beak, but Harry cooed and cajoled the little thing into taking a few seeds. Another ‘pop’ and Draco appeared, looking very pink and ruffled in Harry’s arms. He immediately reached for his wand, but Harry was faster in grabbing it from him, so he simply went for George with fists. When Harry thwarted that as well, by grabbing Draco firmly around the middle and holding him back, Draco fell back on his last, best weapon: threats. “You’ll regret this, Weasley! You don’t want to play tricks on a potions master!" George had finally given some seed to his bird brothers and had turned them human again, and he sent Draco an insouciant wink from under Ron’s headlock. “Bring it on, Malfoy!” Draco seethed, an expression that Harry had previously thought only existed in books. The blonde turned to him and in imperious tones demanded to be taken home immediately. Harry was still laughing as he agreed, and started hustling Draco towards the fireplace. Molly surged forward to thank them for coming, and caught them both in a huge hug. At Draco’s surprised look she said, wiping tears, “You’ve brought a son home to me today, Draco. Thank you.” Draco looked dumfounded but allowed another hug, and then with a poof of green smoke, he and Harry were gone.

There was a slight silence in the room after they left and then Ginny said thoughtfully, “Soooooooo… did anyone realise that they live together now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my weird little plot bunny!


	3. The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco completes Harry's treatment.

Draco waited outside the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place, listening intently. Tonight, he had no intention of knocking. He looked up at the full moon riding over London, and wished himself luck. There was silence on the other side of the door, and Draco deemed it safe to open the door. He slipped inside and closed the door quickly. The wards went back up behind him, locking him in with the monster inside Harry. Draco heard a snuffling noise coming from the darkened upper floor of the house, and tried to calm his instinctive panic.

Upstairs, Harry raised his shaggy dark head. He had been napping quietly on a low bed in a spare room. The change was far less painful than usual and he hadn’t broken any bones this time, although he ached all over in a weary way. Best of all, he had kept his mind. Harry was pretty sure he was mostly himself, if only because his mind continued fretting on the subject of one Draco Malfoy with little break from his human routine, as if turning into a werewolf was a mere afterthought.

Draco had been a wonderful addition to Harry’s life, and not only because of the life-changing potions he had invented to keep Harry’s wolf under control. He gave Harry companionship that was surprisingly uncomplicated and undemanding, considering that Draco was nothing if not complex and extremely demanding. But Draco demanded things like warm fires and homemade hot chocolate, simple things that were easy and comforting for Harry to provide. Draco didn’t demand that Harry go back to the Auror office, as others had. He didn’t ask him to attend balls or official events, or even drinks at the pub with his mates. He seemed to understand that Harry needed time and space to rebuild who he was now. As well as a solid presence at Harry’s elbow when Harry did venture out with other people, Draco was a constant challenge to Harry as he had always been. After all, had the blonde ever gone easy on Harry? Harry thrived on competition despite needing constant comfort, and Draco Malfoy of all people had proven himself uniquely able to provide both.

After the first visit back to the Burrow, Harry found himself looking at Draco with more softness than ever before. He had noticed the other's beauty for months, but Harry had convinced himself that no one would want him as a werewolf. Indeed, people barely wanted him as a human – they wanted Famous Harry Potter, of course, but not just Harry. An ordinary bloke with a slightly sharp wit and a very sharp temper could be found anywhere, after all. Therefore Harry kept his thoughts to himself. Sometimes he wondered if Draco might have some fondness for him in return, but it was hard to know. The blonde kept his council, and gave nothing away. He had not brought anyone home nor stayed out late in the months he had lived down the hallway from Harry. Pansy had once assured Harry in a snide whisper that Draco liked brunette men, but Harry was leery of putting too much faith in the Slytherin woman. He had no problem with Draco inviting his friends over for drinks or meals, and enjoyed their company as long as Draco was there. But he didn’t trust them like he trusted Draco.

However this last month had brought a great change in the chatty blonde. Normally one to mouth off day and night about anything and everything, Draco had been quiet and reserved. Indeed he had been barely verbal, although he had assured Harry that nothing was wrong when questioned. After Harry had got himself quite distressed about it all one day, Meaney delivered a large bunch of fresh roses from the Manor with a note from Draco saying, “I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything soon. Don’t worry.” Hermione saw the flowers and nearly squealed. Only a stern look from Harry stopped her. However, when Ron saw them he did squeal, so Harry wasn’t able to save himself the embarrassment at all. A week ago, Draco had come home from Wiltshire with a huge grin and a look of relief. He had talked as he had not talked for a month, chattering about all kinds of ridiculous minutia. He had kept it up all week, and Harry had been too busy laughing and too full of relief to ask what had been going on. And then the moon came, as it always did. Even though the potions seemed to be reliable in keeping Harry calm and sane, he still locked Draco and the elves out of the house carefully, admonishing Draco not to come in even though the wards would permit him. Every month prior to this, Draco had gone without complaint. He always returned exactly as the moon set, ready with bandages, spells and potions that would ease Harry’s post-moon suffering. He had proven himself even better than Hermione at this part. Harry therefore did not expect to see him till morning, but a change in the wards told Harry clearly that someone had just walked through the front door. Even Ron and Hermione could not bypass Harry’s protective spells, so there was only one person it could be. Harry snuffled up the scent of Draco greedily, then huffed in annoyance. His mind felt sharp, not wolfy at all, and he would go downstairs and give Draco a bloody good scare.

Harry padded out of the spare room, and stopped short. On the landing outside his room sat a beautiful silver cat. Its fur was silky and neatly arranged, in stark difference to Harry’s scruffy black fur. It looked nervous but composed, and sat quietly so Harry could approach it. This he did with caution, but there seemed to be no danger to this intruder, other than its eerie quiet. Harry sniffed carefully, and caught a whiff of sweetness and another, more herbal smell. Sugar quills, said Harry’s human mind. Draco’s shampoo. Harry made a loud, comical sound of canine astonishment, and sat suddenly with his hind legs splayed. His huge, ferociously-toothed mouth hung open as he gaped at the neat little cat sat before him. The great green eyes of the werewolf nearly bugged out of their sockets. The cat smirked in a way that clarified that indeed, this was Draco Malfoy. He stepped forward boldly, and placed a paw upon Harry’s jowls. There was delicate pressure, and Harry realised Draco was trying to shut his surprised mouth, a mocking gesture he had done before. The bloody cheek! In the surprise of the moment, Harry sneezed right in the cat’s face. With a resounding snarl, the cat jumped away from him and up onto a nearby cabinet, hissing and spitting. Harry felt embarrassed, and put down his ears and whined a little to show he was sorry. He then had to wait while the cat washed his entire face and paws in a very prissy manner. Once cat-Draco had deemed himself clean enough, he jumped down lightly, and led the way back to Harry’s spare room. After observing all the furnishings – with Harry close on his tail – Draco climbed up onto the low bed. Harry jumped on too, and couldn’t help romping in excitement a little. No one had ever done so much for him. He couldn’t believe Draco had gone to the trouble of turning into an animagus, even holding a mandrake leaf in his mouth for a solid month, just for Harry. No wonder he had been so silent. Harry could barely contain his excitement, but Draco looked stern. He set a dainty paw on Harry’s huge, dark head and guided him to lie down. The cat then walked up onto Harry’s back and started a kneading, purring massage that felt like heaven itself on Harry’s aching shoulders. The werewolf whined aloud in bliss. After a while the cat started obsessively grooming Harry’s tangled fur, but Harry was already well on the way to sleep. Even when the cat nibbled at a particularly tough knot, Harry only snuffled. Later still, the cat slid down to sit in the warm curve of the werewolf’s huge body. Harry hugged his cat-friend happily in his sleep, making soft whines of contentment, and slid into a solid, deep sleep. 

Draco woke to the feeling of being petted over his whole body, head to tail. It was absolutely heavenly, and definitely the best part of his animagus form. He purred loudly, and opened his silvery eyes when Harry cooed. Harry had changed back at sunrise, quietly and with little pain. He looked tired but nowhere near as distressed as he used to in the past. In the early morning light he was rumpled and handsome, his bronzed skin gleaming on the pale sheet of the wolf-bed. Draco’s cat eyes helped themselves to a good look all over the naked man before him, and he instinctively purred even louder. He was glad he couldn’t blush when Harry chuckled lightly, but he delivered a sharp bite to Harry’s finger to show his embarrassment. Harry just cooed again and kept stroking, then begged Draco to change back. Draco looked over Harry’s form again, as if to point out his nakedness, but Harry just shrugged. “I can’t kiss you when you’re a cat, Draco,” he whispered. Draco raised his small face to Harry in a cheeky kitty kiss, making Harry laugh again. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated. In a moment his body came back to him and he was lying in the lee of the werewolf’s body as before, but now human and clad in simple muggle garb. Harry made a sound of perfect content, and brought his hand to cup Draco’s face gently. His green eyes glowed with joy when he thanked Draco earnestly for what he had done, but Draco just scoffed. “It’s the final part of your treatment,” he explained. “The potions will never take away your loneliness, nor offer you comfort.” Harry’s expression became very tender. “It’s only one night a month, darling, and I’ve been much lonelier in my life.”  Draco huffed and fiercely wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, bringing the larger man so close that they were pressed together tightly. “Unacceptable,” he said firmly, and raised his mouth in demand.

Harry’s brilliant grin hampered their first kiss, but neither would have changed it for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading to the end!


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a grown up is highly overrated.

George Weasley relaxed with a smirk in the backroom of the Wheezes, putting his feet up with a well-earned groan. He had been rushed off his feet all morning, as kids were heading back to Hogwarts and needed to stock up on all the classics. His assistants had had their tea breaks already. Nonetheless, before he made his much-needed cuppa, George habitually checked every item of tea-making paraphernalia, then checked the water and the milk and the sugar. The muggle teabags were fresh out of the box, but were also checked for any residual traces of magic. Running the joke shop made its owner even more paranoid that Mad-Eye Moody, and George smiled a little wanly as he muttered ‘constant vigilance’ to the biscuits. They were from his mum and were checked for tampering most thoroughly of all.

It had been weeks since he turned Malfoy, Ron and Charlie into birds at an important family lunch. His brothers had kicked the crap out of him good-naturedly and forgotten all about it, but Malfoy worried George. He had come to every Sunday lunch since, Harry in tow, and had ingratiated himself into the family. He always brought something small but thoughtful for Molly, talked about using muggle appliances with Arthur, and had proven himself a dab hand at braiding hair which delighted Fleur and her pretty daughter. Victoire was never far from Draco, blonde heads together nattering in French. Teddy didn’t understand much French, but he turned his hair Malfoy-blonde and fought for space on his cousin’s knee. Malfoy smiled and ate and joked. To all appearances he had forgotten all about being turned into a small silver bird in front of almost-strangers. George knew his mother was already planning a Christmas jumper for Malfoy, which was probably just as well given the lingering glances and touches passing between the blonde and Harry. George steeped his teabag in hot water and thought morosely that he may even have to apologise to Malfoy. It was obvious Harry was head over heels in love, and Malfoy seemed fond enough of Harry to have eschewed gaining revenge for the prank. Perhaps he had grown up after all. How disappointing. George sipped his tea despondently, nibbled his biscuits, and contemplated the terrible nature of love. Finishing his snack, he stood to stretch his arms overhead and felt the little head rush that accompanies a really good stretch. Time to head back out and see if he could convince anyone to buy some of his newer tricks.

Back on the floor, George smiled and joked with customers on his way around the shop. He noticed people looked at him in surprise but no one mentioned anything, as they would have if he had suddenly sprouted wings or turned orange. George was used to dramatic pranks that had people gasping out loud, and besides, any sort of personal transfiguration was accompanied by sound and a distinct feeling of something wrong. He felt perfectly fine, and took the questioning glances in his stead. As it turned out, the shop became even busier. George worked right through lunch until closing time. Verity helped him to count out the tills and close up that night, and she was so weary that she barely gave him a glance. However as she headed out of the door, she said tiredly, “Interesting choice you made today, boss,” and then she was gone.

George frowned. He hadn’t so much as visited the bathroom in hours so he rushed there now. One look in the mirror had him gasping aloud, his reaction as strong as if he had sprouted wings or turned orange. His skin, always pale, was now free of his trademark Weasley freckles. It was a pale, pale alabaster, smooth with a dainty flush of pink surprise. His hair was also smooth and soft. In the dingy light of the staff loos, it shone in a shade of distinctive platinum. He didn’t know how or when, but Malfoy had turned George into … a Malfoy.

George gaped at the mirror before roaring with laughter. The ferret had done it, and done it so subtly that George himself had not guessed for a moment. The whole of Diagon Alley had seen him dressed in Malfoy blonde, which seemed a little excessive but then, Malfoy had always been dramatic like that. Grinning widely, his faith in Malfoy’s pettiness restored, George flooed to Harry’s place to show off his hairdo and ask for the antidote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Hufflepuff I'm terrible at thinking of Slytherin pranks, but I like to think Draco would enjoy this one!


End file.
